sueeeus

We had the 3-month follow up today and the x-ray shows improvement, but it’s not all healed.  The doctor is very happy with the progress and advised us to continue with what we’re doing, not allowing the boy wonder to sit.  We’ll check again in 4 months, and it sounds like we’ll keep on with this until at some point, if there’s not enough improvement, the MRI and surgery (to fuse the vertebrae) will be something to consider.  For now, we’re staying with the non-invasive course.

Anyhow, we’re happy that there’s improvement.  I was hoping for a fully developed bone, but at least things are going in the right direction.

I’d love to post new pictures, but I’m so full up with work that I can barely spare a minute.  Maybe in September.

Guess who is ten months old today?

Yep.  My little guy.

Just this week he figured out how to pull himself to a stand.  Then he got so excited about it, because it was, you know, way cool, so he waved his arms in excitement, as he does…   …and went timber, straight back like a falling tree.  My, that was scary, for both of us.  It’s a good thing babies are so resilient and also so close to the ground.   Gravity might otherwise not be so kind.

He is stunningly gorgeous, too.  And I’m not just saying that because I’m his mother.  Well, yes, actually I am.  But look at him!

Today we spent the day together, just the two of us.  Gadget and BB went to show off the boat, the boat that I want very little or nothing to do with, even though I paid for the blessed thing for goodness sake, but Gadget in his manipulative wonder managed to get me to go for it, and I really need to develop a backbone or something when it comes to dealing with marital strife see Gadget’s family up north, and my back was hurting and I was exhausted from a crazy work week, so I stayed home.  I just didn’t want to go.  We went last weekend, and that’s about all I can take for a month or two. So LB and I had a nice day together doing laundry and buying milk.  That little boy is very good at helping fold clothes.

He is also a master at scooting backwards.  He’s as fast as lightning and it makes me laugh, the way he scoots so fast.  It’s sort of like a frog hopping backwards.  I laugh and laugh, and I swear he knows it tickles me so he does it more, to put on a show.  His forward crawl is sort of like a sidestroke.  The ‘commando’ crawl, like GI Joe.  He gets up on his hands and knees to scope the scene, then plops into commando position to make his advance.  He gets to his feet from the kneeling position.  He sort of rolls back on his toes and straightens his legs, like a dancer.  Then he bounces and flails because he thinks it’s so cool to be standing, but of course he forgets and then falls.  Hopefully he’ll figure that out soon.  Dinglefuzz.

The other thing he does with amazing accuracy is turn on the DVD player.  No kidding.   He goes directly for the power button or the open/close button, and he’ll take the DVD out of the tray.  Little stinker!  We have a barricade of pillows in front of the TV stand, but he literally dives onto them, and then starts hurling pillows away with all his might, to get at those electronics.

And how are things on the feeding front?  He has five teeth, and several more on the verge of breaking through.  I still have him on stage two foods because he chokes and gags with the tiniest of fragments in his mouth.  I’m looking forward to him actually attempting to chew, but he’s not ready yet.  He’s not too thrilled with the frozen breast milk, either.  He takes it fine during the night when he’s mostly asleep, but in the day he fights it, so I mix it with rice cereal and feed it to him that way.  And as for weaning, I am nearly there.  I am down to one pump in two days, so the end is in sight.  My mood and emotions are all over the map, though, but that is probably to be expected.  It IS good to be getting my boobs back, I have to say.  There is much less pain, all around.  My belly pain is finally subsiding too.

Still hoping for a full night’s sleep, but it looks as though that is a pipe dream at best.

Still smitten beyond words with this little bundle of wonder, though.  He’s the bestest.

Dolls have never been my thing.  My mother, aunt and grandmother are all gaga over dolls, and have all sorts of collectibles.  My MIL,  Gadget’s daughter and her mother are likewise all gaga over dolls. Their homes are bursting with dolls.

My son, BB, is freaked out over dolls.  I have one doll, and her home is atop a small bookcase in my bedroom.  BB doesn’t want to be in the room alone with her.  And he’s never even seen Chucky.  Lord have mercy on us all if ever he does.

I have this doll because she is a namesake.  When my mother was a child, she had two dolls.  One was named Susan, and the other a lovely musical S-name.   Her first two daughters were named for these dolls, and eventually, she gave the Susan doll to me.

Yesterday we visited Gadget’s family for the day.  His aunt and uncle were visiting from Mississippi or thereabouts, and it was a rare opportunity to see them, as they are advanced in years and their health is declining.  At one point, Gadget’s brother disappeared for a few moments to the back room, and returned with a tiny newborn baby cradled in his arms.  My heart skipped a beat, trying to process the information.  Where in the heck did that baby come from, why was it left alone until now, who was taking care of it, and so on.  A million questions spun through my mind.  And then, I realized it was a doll.

Which freaked me out a bit more, because it looked so real.  It looked like a dead baby.  Seriously.

As the story unfolds, an acquaintance of the aunt makes these dolls for a living, and they go for around $800.  They are commissioned, usually, and made to look like people’s existing (or dearly departed) babies.  I missed the tale of why she gave one to the aunt, but I did hear the tale of how the doll-maker left one of these dolls in the back seat of her car while running errands one day.  The doll was in a bassinett, dressed in baby clothes, and the car windows were rolled up on a hot summer day.  People noticed and started tapping the glass to wake the baby.  The lady didn’t return, the baby didn’t respond, more people showed up, and finally the police were called, and they broke the car window to retrieve the baby.  At which time they discovered it was a doll.  Thank God.  When the maker finally returned, the police apologized for breaking her window, but said, “for GOD’s sake, cover that thing up if you’re going to leave it anywhere.”

Anyhow, dolls creep me out.  They always have.  I don’t know why.  And this doll, especially, was enough to stir me.  The details are incredible, down to the wrinkles in the hands and feet.  But it’s just too much.  I can picture one of these dolls sending some poor barren woman with unhealthy baby obsessions over the deep edge.  And that woman could have been me (prior to my miracle boys).

Hello there, Mister Squishy Pants.  Or is it Mister Stinky Pants?  It’s safe to say that if you are Mister Squishy Pants, then you are most definitely Mister Stinky Pants.  And vice versa.  Not that anybody’s complaining.  We like to know that all systems are go, yes we do.  So we don’t mind.  We don’t mind one bit.  And we try hard not to take these things for granted any more.  Now that we know about that pesky little vertebrae that we hope is well on its way to behaving and filling in properly.

You are growing and learning by leaps and bounds now!  In the last few weeks you’ve sprouted more teeth.  I see three, and several more just lurking beneath the surface.  And you’re such a giggle box!  Some babies are miserable when teething, but not you!  You giggle and shriek and squirm and kick.  You are so full of life, my beautiful boy.

You especially love it when I hold you under your armpits and swing you like a pendulum.  Tick Tock!  You giggle and kick the air and squirm and shriek and your smile goes from forever to forever.  You are contagious, and you make me feel so good.

You are an expert at rolling over and spinning circles, and you’ve just figured out how to move forward, instead of only backwards.  Oh boy.  You go straight for the baskets of DVDs.  Because you know you’re not supposed to.  And you press the red button on the toy dinosaur to make him roar.  How can you be so smart?!  You’re a genius!

You love your turquoise blue blankie, too.  You know which one it is, and you grab it and pull it over your head when you want to go to sleep.  I always pull it back, because I don’t like you to cover your face.  But I have to check on you often, because you are a stubborn little guy, and pull it right back over your face.

Finally, you wake only once in the night for another bottle, and finally you take more than four ounces!  So it’s only 5 or 6, but it keeps you satisfied for longer, and that means I get to sleep a teensy bit more, and for that, I am so very happy!  No shaking your bottle and splashing your milk all over your head, though.  You’re not allowed to play with your milk.  Nope, not allowed.

I’m glad you like your binky.  I know it may not be the best thing, but I prefer to keep that in your mouth while you’re exploring, because I’d rather you NOT put other things in your mouth that you find during your adventures.  Your brother has a tendency to leave a trail, similar to the wake of a tornado, so for everyone’s safety, the binky is best.  What?  You think I want to spend every waking moment following your brother with a broom or a vacuum?  I thought I would have been able to teach him to clean up after himself by now, but he’s very head strong.  Like his dad.  And so are you.  I can only imagine what’s in store.

Soon you will learn to sit yourself from a stand or a crawl.  You are already trying.  You might not be happy when that happens, because I will keep putting you back on your tummy.  That’s what I’m going to do.   Just so you know.  We’re going to give that pesky little vertebrae every chance we can to fill out the way it should.  You might thank me when you’re 40.  Maybe.

You have the look of a deep thinker, too.  You are so different from your brother, the boisterous bull in a china shop boy.  You are boisterous, but in a different way.  There’s something about you, my LB.   Something about you.  And I, I am smitten, over and over again.  First with your brother — I didn’t think I could be any more smitten, and then you came along and I’m smitten all that much more.

Nine months!  Happy Nine Months, my beautiful boy!

I have the weaning blues.

LB isn’t calling the shots here. It’s all on me, since I pump exclusively. Something about dropping supply just gets to me. Maybe it’s because of how hard I work to maintain supply, it seems so contrary to intentionally reduce it. Part of me wants to be done, and to have that part of my life back, but part of me doesn’t want to let go. It’s all wrapped up in ‘this is my last baby, this is the last time I will ever get to do this’. I suppose that’s the source of the blues — I won’t be down this path again and it’s so hard and sad to close this door. I’m currently at 3x/day now, and working on dropping to 2x.  I have only managed to stretch to 9.5 hours, but yesterday hit a new low of 21 ounces, down from over 40, and with that, the blues hit me hard.

In a way, I’m sort of addicted to pumping now and keep calculating in my head how I can keep things going if I just stick to 2x, once I get there, or even 1x. But then, if the supply is so low by then, part of me says why even bother trying to keep at it and why not just get my freedom back.

I EP’ed for a full year with BB, and never had these blues.   Maybe because I was hoping to have more kids, and/or maybe because I never did make enough to give him 100%. I pumped 75% and supplemented with formula 25%, and when I decided to wean at the one year mark, it was easy as cake to dry up and be done. No emotional issues whatsoever (other than the obsession of milk production consuming my life for an entire year; I suppose if I went through my archives, they may tell a different story). This time is so different for me. I’m 44 now, have two beautiful boys, and the baby window is closed. If I’d been able to have kids earlier in life, I might have tried for 3 or 4, but as it turns out, it was a miracle for me to get what I got. I am eternally grateful and blessed for the opportunity to be a mother.

Anyhow, it’s probably normal to get the weaning blues. Hormones are undoubtedly shifting, and there’s the whole letting go thing.

I have a smokin’ hot new hairdo, though, and that makes me feel happy.  It’s the short choppy number again.  I really like short, these last several years.

The Mac photo booth is a lot of fun, too.

I prefer PC to Mac, for the most part.  If I were only going to play with Photo Booth, surf the web, and sync my iTouch, then I’d use the Mac — it handles those things nicely.  But I like my PC better for photo editing and general file keeping.  So I hop back and forth between both worlds, which for me is kind of annoying.  I’m the girl who likes to stay put, after all.

blahblahblah

And if I quit pumping, I won’t be playing with Photo Booth at midnight any more.  Or Facebook, for that matter.  Or Scrabble.  Or WordTwist.  Or Scramble.  Or Pathwords.  (I’m easily addicted to word games.)  The plus side is that I may actually be getting some more SLEEP!  I might even get my libido back.

Did I say that out loud?

I sure hope LB likes the milk I have stored in the freezer.

Children’s Hospital is a fantastic place.  It’s really quite incredible.  It’s like an art gallery with sculptures, murals, paintings, and mosaics.  It’s light and bright and cheerful and friendly.

sculpture garden entrance

They are very serious about security.  Everyone must wear a photo ID that is issued at the door.  There are several layers of reception and check-in/admitting.  While waiting for the actual appointment, one is given a pager.

The lighting is stunning.  Art glass everywhere.

aquatic art glass ceiling fixtures

art glass wall sconce

The floors are terrazzo with aquatic themed inlays.  There are fish and turtles and all manner of sea creatures everywhere you look.

walking with the turtles

Giant wall murals morph into etched glass walls.  Simply stunning.

All this beauty to behold.  But it still doesn’t detract from the real beauty within those walls.  Children of all kinds.  Children with reasons to be there.  It’s almost too hard to think about, these children, and why they are here.

Why we are here.

probably the best baby in the universe

He has a congenital spinal defect.

notched vertebrae

The vertebrae in the middle of the picture has a notch in it.  It’s underdeveloped.  If it doesn’t get a chance to fill out properly, the spinal cord could be damaged.  If it doesn’t grow properly, there may need to be surgery.  But it could resolve on its own.  That is my deepest hope.  He’s too small for a back brace to keep him rigid.  We’re told to discourage sitting.  He can be on his knees or his tummy or he can stand, but he has to avoid sitting.  He can only sit reclined, to keep the spine elongated.

less of this

We go back in three months for more x-rays.  The good news is the ultrasound showed his kidneys and bladder are all normal.  We will hope that the notch becomes less pronounced with time.  I want to avoid the MRI if at all possible.  The thought of general anesthesia for my infant makes me very sad.  So if his progress is good, we may be able to forego the MRI.  And surgery.

giant whale swimming through space

And we will spend very little time with the giant whales and sea creatures.

sea creatures everywhere

It’s a beautiful place to visit.  It’s a more beautiful place to leave.

BB has been sick.  There seems to be a correlation with visits to the school playground.  I was feeling like such a good mom, taking my kids for a walk, letting BB play on the slides and monkey bars, spending some time together outdoors.  And then the sick.  Granted, it’s only happened twice in the past few weeks, but considering he hasn’t been sick for ages until then, it seems to be more than coincidence.  I can hardly shield him from playgrounds, though, and eventually he will be in school, amidst a veritable melting pot of germs.  He needs to build up his immune system.

Having a sick child stirs an entirely new range of emotions.

I was going to start the weaning process, but LB gets some of my antibodies, and so far, we’ve not been sick.  I’d like to keep it that way.   I feel helpless enough waiting for the sick to work its way through BB.  I don’t want to deal with vomiting and diarrhea with an infant.   It’s not so much the mess, but the helplessness and the concern and the heartache for my suffering child that I want to avoid.  I don’t want him to suffer.  I could do without the mess as well.

He did catch a cold, recently, concurrent with the emergence of his razor sharp lower front two teeth.  I’ve heard that’s not uncommon, for a child to get a runny stuffy nose and a mild fever when teething.  He is no fan of the nasal aspirator, and cries and thrashes while I use it, but like a light switch, he’s all giggles and smiles the instant it’s over.  I love that.

LB has been such a dream baby in many respects.  He likes his routine.  He starts squirming and showing a little agitation around 6:30-7:30 p.m., indicating he’s tired.  I put him in his hammock with a bottle and he settles in almost immediately, and sleeps peacefully until 5-6 a.m.  He semi-wakes at regular 3 hour intervals for a feeding, and when he’s finished, I deftly swap the bottle for the pacifier and he nestles right back into his comfy position and continues to sleep.  However.  The other day, during his agitation phase, he was able to flop himself completely over while in the hammock, which is no small feat.  Once on his stomach, it’s almost impossible to right himself, so the hammock is no longer a safe place to sleep.  Enter the crib.  And the unhappy antics of a child whose routine has been altered.  It’s been three days now, and he’s doing better.

I do wish he’d take more than 4 ounces at a time.  If so, he might sleep longer than 3-4 hours at a stretch.  Which means I could too.  Selfish me!

I always envisioned myself as a super mom.  Motherhood has been the focus of my aspirations, from very early in my life.  I would have all the patience in the world with my children.  I would explain matters, and they would cooperate.  I would never have to raise my voice, let alone yell.  I wouldn’t spoil them with treats and an overabundance of unearned rewards.  And I would never, ever spank.  Ever.

What fantasy land was I living in?  I am so not the mother I envisioned myself to be.  I try to have the patience of Job, but when I’ve given sound explanations and get unblinking, unfaltering whining in return, I begin to wear down.  I assumed that all children would want to please their mothers.  I remember being a child and wanting desperately to please my mother.  I remember having a keen interest in avoiding wrath of any kind.  So I assumed my children would be like me.  However.  My precious 4yo has no discernible interest in avoiding wrath.  He wants what he wants.  It’s as simple as that.  And it confounds me.

In an effort to dissipate the tension during one such moment recently, I stopped arguing for a bit, caught his attention, and said in a loving and teasing voice, “You are a stubborn child, my love.  Where do you think you get that from?”  He looked at me with his big bright grey eyes, and I could tell he was thinking about it.  Meanwhile, with all of us holding eye contact, his dad covertly pointed his finger at me, while I covertly pointed my finger at him.  We caught each other pointing through the corner of our eyes, then we all laughed.

And two minutes later (less, actually) the whining and arguing resumed.

I find myself feeling bad about not being the kind of mother I’d hoped I’d be.  I haven’t taught BB his numbers or letters.  There was a time when he was much younger that we worked on these things, but it’s been ages.  We don’t listen to music, or sing and dance along to silly songs.  I barely ever read to him.  We don’t play games together.  When we do work on things together, it lasts only a minute, as his attention span is very very short.  I haven’t taught him to ride his bike or play ball.  Part of me is racked with guilt over this.  He’ll be going to kindergarten in September 2010, and what will he know?

My sister helped me put things in perspective though.  She reminded me that nobody worked with us to teach us our numbers or letters.  Nobody sang silly songs with us, or played games (until we were older).  Nobody read us bedtime stories, or anytime stories.  We got very little parental or adult interaction, yet we did just fine when we went to school, and we didn’t even bother with kindergarten.  We caught on, caught up, and sped right on.  We were fine.  So BB will probably be fine.  I know he’s smart.  I can tell that he does learn things.  I hope that he discovers a love of reading.  I will encourage him.  At this point, though, it’s all I can do to teach him to respect books and not tear the pages, write on them, or poke holes in them (because it’s great fun to do all that).

This motherhood job is so much more difficult than I even imagined it would be.  And I am so not living up to my expectations, naive as they may be.

I have one of those minds, call it obsessive, that latches onto things and can’t seem to let go unless or until a plausible explanation is rendered.

The mystery of the missing bath salts.  Did someone throw them out?  Why would they?  Why would they not be in the same place they have been for the last 5 months?

The mystery of the missing brown blanket.  Did someone throw it out?  Give it away?  Take it?  Where on earth is it?  It’s not like a big fluffy blanket just walks away on its own.

Granted, I am one to be over zealous when it comes to giving things away.  I’m currently in the midst of a mass expunge in which I am relieving myself of the burden of ownership of much of my earthly possessions.    So of course it’s not a problem that even more things are not here, but it just bothers me that I don’t know what happened to these particular things.  It’s the lack of explanation that gets me stuck.

Stuck.  I do feel stuck, in many ways. Or perhaps the word is trapped.  Trapped in my mind, trapped in my body, trapped in my office, trapped in my life.  Where would I go and what would I do?  Obviously it’s mainly my mind that governs the overall trappedness of things.  My work day is over.  A bona fide 8 hours plus have been devoted to my employer.  Yet my computer is still online, and I glance at it every few minutes to see if more email or work items have come through.  I should just shut the thing off and not think of it again until the next day begins.  But I don’t.

There is time now, before the evening tasks commence, in which I could be doing things for myself like exercising, planning healthy meals, reading a book, going for a walk, doing errands.  Instead, I’m compelled to sit at this computer and write about how I can’t make myself do any of those things.

I think the word for it is probably depression, but all right already, it just seems like I should be able to rationalize things.  Figure things out.  So I can get on with things.

But I can’t.  Because I’m stuck.

Sometimes I feel this way all day, and then when evening falls I’m hit with a wave of relief, as though nightfall justifies the need to remain indoors.  It’s crazy, because I like the outdoors.

Part of me wants incentive.  I’d love it if Gadget were interested in fitness and health, but if activities don’t involve boats, motorcycles, RVs, ATVs, or other such motorized things, guns, or gear, then it’s not likely that he’ll be interested.  Look at me!  I’ve just skillfully blamed him for my predicament.  I’m good that way.

Seriously, though, it would be nice to enjoy simplicity together.  Walks, talks, healthy meals.  It would be nice if we shared more, and did more things together, including the mundane household chores and meal preparations.  He thinks I’m not romantic because I don’t want him to buy me flowers or bring me presents.  That’s not the case at all, though.  I just want him to know me well enough to bring me something I like.  He thinks that’s impossible, because I’m too particular.  I would like him to share more in our every day living.  That’s really what I want.  Not presents.  Presence.

I was all ‘Bah Humbug’ over the Easter basket thing this year, but caved at the last minute and whipped something together.  I’ve only just started attempting to introduce BB to the concept of God, and it’s confusing enough for a four year old, let alone anybody.  Add to that bunnies and eggs and a special basket full of surprises — I can’t even begin to imagine how he puts all those together.

It’s funny to eavesdrop on his play conversations with his toys.  He was explaining to one that another was God, and that he was red, and had special powers.  I don’t know where he got the red part, unless it was because he was playing with stuffed animals, and the one designated as God was the red bear. He also punctuates the end of self-dialog chatter with Amen, now.  La dee da dee da dee da, la dee da dee da, Amen.  Oh to be four.

I don’t really get the whole Easter basket thing, but my heart softens when I reminisce about how magical it was for me as a child to find that basket hidden somewhere in my room, filled with sugary goodness.  I think a lot of that has to do with being so poor and the only occasions in life to ever get candy (i.e., untold wealth) were Christmas, Easter, Halloween, and birthdays.  These days, so many kids seem to grow up getting goodies and things all the time, which dilutes the special occasion experience, so that magical joy is missing.

I’d like my children to experience that feeling of wondrous joy and delight, but am not so keen to load them up with gobs of candy.  I happened to be looking for clothes for BB at WalMart* when my heart softened, so I compromised and found some storage totes in a relatively spring color, and grabbed a couple of low dollar toys and a bag of Reese’s peanut butter eggs.  I filled the totes with the new clothes and toys, and tossed in a small handful of the candy.  I hid BB’s near his bed, and I ‘hid’ LB’s under his hammock.  I think BB will be delighted.

We’re also having an Easter egg hunt for the kiddos at my SIL’s this afternoon.  I bought two big bags of pre-decorated and pre-filled plastic eggs to scatter around, so the kids will have plenty of candy when it’s all said and done.  And then I’ll stealthily confiscate most of it, when the opportunity presents itself.

~*~*~*~

*I think it’s bordering on criminal that one can buy a complete ensemble of shorts, shirt and t-shirt for $7, but at the same time, am thankful.  Hyppocrite.  BB is growing like a weed, though.  The size 6 things I gave him for Christmas are too small, and if clothes will only fit for 3-4 months, I’m thankful that I can find new ones for so little.